War Children
by Dickie Gayson
Summary: Damian always knew, deep down, that there was something wrong with his family and him. It didn't really hit him until he was on a walk one day. He has a moment of introspection on just what his brothers and sisters really are in the grand scheme of things.


A/N: This is a little writing exercise request from Tumblr! I put my music on shuffle and had to write a little short based on the song for Damian (: The song I got for him was Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones (tho it was the Puddle of Mudd version lol)

I tried to limit myself to 500 words but I went a little over it

* * *

 _Oh, a storm is threat'ning  
_ _My very life today  
_ _If I don't get some shelter  
_ _Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away  
_ _War children, it's just a shot away_

Damian can recall with startling clarity the moment he realized something was unequivocally wrong with his family, his life, him. He'd been walking the streets of the Diamond district, listening to Grayson chatter away, when a man nearly ran into him. Damian felt his brother's hand on his shoulder to move him out of the way just as he was stepping from the man's path; an almost synchronized maneuver to keep him from getting trampled. The man was stout and average in appearance with a rather forgettable face. He turned to offer an apology to the young vigilante before spinning back around and calling out to a giggling girl. His daughter, if the unremarkable features were anything to go by. Damian took the blase apology with a barely restrained sneer.

Dick's hand stayed on his shoulder for a moment, firm in grasp but not so much restraining as it was reassuring. The former assassin was getting better at keeping his temper in check by leaps and bounds. While most people seemed to still see him as that murderous boy that arrived at the manor years back, Dick believed in his growth; encouraged it. The older hero kept on talking about the upcoming Gala, though his eyes were sharp on the man who nearly knocked into Damian, assessing any potential threat. It was then that it hit Damian, really hit him, that they were different from these people.

Sure, it was something he'd picked up on when he first arrived in Gotham but paid little mind to at the time. He was far too full of fury and a need to prove himself to focus on the glaringly obvious. But now, on this casual day, it was like a neon sign lighting up before his eyes. It was in the way his brother and he instinctively knew to move out of the way, in the way they were always on guard and watching, waiting for danger. It was in the way those bright blue eyes everyone fell for seemed to pick apart the unassuming man with almost vicious scrutiny. It was the little things that just piled up until the proof was irrefutable. _They were wrong._

At first, he thought it was the rest of the world that was wrong. That they were weak for not having the training to kill another person with no effort. Naive for not watching their backs and corners at all times. Foolish for not knowing the art of physical and psychological warfare. But as he grew, he realized it wasn't the citizens that were faulty. It was his family and him. When he came to the manor, he tried to assert himself, prove his dominance and superiority over the former Robins. They didn't kill, well most didn't kill at the time. They were too soft for the title as Batman's partner. He grew to see the strength in mercy, the power of restraint. They were not soft. No, the Robins of old were cut from diamond and forged in the fires of pain and tragedy. They were so damn strong and he was in awe, though he would never show it.

But, still, they were not right. Each and every one of them, himself included, would snap at those who dared to call them 'children'. For what child fought as they did? Caused pain as they did? Can kill as they can? _They were not children._ No, they were soldiers. They fought as soldiers for the cause given to them. They died for that cause as any good soldier would. Then, they rose back up like Lazarus, too full of life and fury for even Death to handle. _They were not children._ They were products of a war that could never be won. It was a war that was fought day-to-day, in the shadows of grimy alleys and the furthest reaches of space. A war they would continue to fight until the last of them drew their final, blood-choked breath. No matter the torment and pain, he would stand beside his broken brothers and sisters, his haunted father, and defend them until his heart gave out. _They were not children. They were not alright._ But they were a Family and he would not trade them for all the riches and happiness in the world.


End file.
